


That Animal Instinct

by Hopetohell



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:55:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25944700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell
Summary: It aches, it burns, and it sends you higher than you thought was possible.
Relationships: August Walker/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	That Animal Instinct

He can cover your entire face with his hand, so he does. Presses the pads of his fingers into your temples, grinds the heel of his hand into your lips until they bruise, until you taste copper. His other hand’s got you by the back of the neck and he’s leaving little rows of c-curved bite marks everywhere his fingers aren’t. He’ll wreck your skin, ruin you till there’s no way you’ll be able to hide it. He worries at the skin over your jugular vein and maybe he’ll move on, maybe he’ll tear it out just to watch you bleed. 

Shouldn’t get you wet, but it does. 

So much so that when he shoves two fingers inside you without preamble or care, he’s already growling at the feel of it, at the slip-slide of his fingers along your walls. The press and drag of his fingers over that one spot has you moaning, but when he pulls his fingers out and hooks them just to make them catch on your rim, it’s a shriek that claws its way out of your throat. 

He’s got his belt out from somewhere and he’s buckling it around your neck, all the way down till it rubs at your bite marks, holes punched far enough down to get it tight like he knew he’d find you here. He doesn’t say a damn thing, never does, just gets his hands under you at the hips and ribs and flips you over onto your belly like it’s nothing, like he’s turning a piece of meat. 

It hurts a little when he drags your hips up where he wants them, when he shoves in without mercy, burrowing his way into you, stretching you out before you’re quite ready because his cock is thick just like the rest of him. It’s a claim same as the rest of it, every thrust meaning _mine, you’re mine, no one else can fill you up like I do._

He strokes a hand up your spine then and it’s almost soothing like he’s petting a skittish horse, but it’s only so he can wind the belt around his hand before pulling on it, bowing your back into that arch he likes, the one that means you can’t move for how tightly curved your spine is. Your hands are free this time because he likes the way they fist in the sheets, fingers opening and closing helplessly. Likes how you can’t help but respond to the way he’s working you over, even as the rest of your body is so taut you feel like you’ll snap in two. 

It aches, it burns, and you’d scream if you had the air to do it but the belt around your neck is sending spots across your vision. He lets his hand down now and again so you can gasp in breaths that each burn a little more, and send you a little higher each time they’re taken away. 

When he’s getting close he puts a hand under your sternum and hauls you upright, both on your knees except he’s got his toes planted on the bed so he can leverage his thrusts up into you like he’s trying to fuck your throat from the wrong side. And you, well, your hands manage to grasp at his wrist, scratching and scrabbling, but the rest of your body is helpless to do anything but take his cock as your vision dims with the lack of air. 

When he comes pulsing hot inside you, he drags you whimpering and shaking over the edge with him. Maybe one of these times you’ll manage to ask him about it, how he always knows. But you’ve lost the ability to speak even as he lays you down, as he cleans you carefully and dresses your wounds.


End file.
